


A Thousand Keys

by Saucery



Category: Merlin (BBC)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Future Fic, M/M, Magic, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2010-12-15
Updated: 2010-12-16
Packaged: 2017-10-13 16:56:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/139543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saucery/pseuds/Saucery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur and Merlin are catapulted into the distant future. Will this time-traveling pair of prince and pauper ever find their way back home?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

  
**Preliminary Notes**   


  


* * *

Description: This story plays out after a very different version of Season 1, Episode 13. Arthur and Merlin both went to face Nimueh together, and although they did manage to kill her, she cursed them and banished them from Camelot - not just Camelot's place, mind you, but Camelot's _time_. Now, stranded in modern-day London with no idea of where or when they are, the boys must find a way to return to Camelot and to their rightful destinies. Comedic hijinks featuring modern technology and ancient magic abound, as do the slashy undercurrents native to the show itself. (Ahem. They're more like riptides than undercurrents in this story, I'm afraid. I couldn't help myself.)

Language: I must ask you to do me a great kindness, by suspending your disbelief at the linguistic ease of the boys' journey to the present. Of course, we all _know_ that two people from the 6th century wouldn't actually be able to understand modern English - and vice versa. We wouldn't be able to understand them, either. But given that the television show has them speaking modern English, and that this is basically fanfiction based on that very show, I ask you to suspend your disbelief for me just as you did for the BBC.

Geography: I like the idea that Arthur was the only king who could unite Albion (i.e. Ancient Britain). As a result, in my story, Arthur's disappearance from the past has played havoc on our current cartography. The United Kingdom is no longer united; in fact, it isn't very different from what it was like _before_ its unification. (Well, give or take a few creative freedoms with history.) I've split it up into three generous parts: Northumbria in the north, Mercia in the middle and Wessex in the south. When Arthur and Merlin find themselves in modern London, they're basically in the kingdom of Wessex. There's no such thing as "Great Britain" anymore, not even in 2009. (Sorry!) You'll find that several other things have changed as well - certain local customs and laws, particularly ways of government, because the kingdom of Wessex is now a militant democracy without any kind of monarch. Again, my apologies to Queen Elizabeth - she simply doesn't exist.

Poem: If you're wondering why I would demand such great sacrifices from Britain, look ye upon the poem below. It's only _natural_ that Arthur's removal from his rightful place in history would have catastrophic results for our timeline. Pluck one thread, and the web ye mar...

Like warp and woof all destinies  
Are woven fast,  
Linked in sympathy like the keys  
Of an organ vast.  
Pluck one thread, and the web ye mar;  
Break but one  
Of a thousand keys, and the paining jar  
Through all will run.  
 _\- John Greenleaf Whittier._

 _  
_

* * *

**A THOUSAND KEYS**   
**\- Chapter I -  
**

* * *

  


"Merlin," hissed Arthur, tugging his idiot manservant back into the alley before he got himself _killed_ , "Don't. Move."

"Why not?" Merlin was soot-stained and bruised and sweaty, and really, even if they _weren't_ in a strange land surrounded by what looked like lunatics, wandering out onto the streets in that condition would've been unthinkable.

"What do you mean, why not?" Arthur dug his fingers into Merlin's shoulder, pulling him in until they were chest-to-chest under the shadowed awning. It was just past dawn and the alley was dimly-lit, but there was no point in taking chances. " _Look_ at that. All that. Out there."

"I'm looking." Merlin, the daft twit, had the nerve to sound _excited_. His voice was all hushed and quavery, and his eyes had the sort of mad gleam that Arthur had learned to equate either with preposterously unlikely court gossip or hare-brained ideas. Or both. "Did you see that? That thing that went past! Like a great red beast of a thing. But it can't be alive, because it's made of metal. Although maybe it's - "

"Merlin - "

" - just enchanted into life, you know, like the Afanc. But it's got _people_ in it! Unless it ate them, but I don't think so, since they seem rather all right, I mean, they're even talking and everything, and maybe - "

" _Merlin_."

" - it's more like a carriage, except it's _ensorcelled_ , because it runs by itself!" Merlin laughed, incredulous; his breath warmed the skin of Arthur's neck. "Look, Ma, no horses!"

Arthur let his head fall back against the wall. He closed his eyes. He was exhausted; he'd just fought a damned _witch_ , after all, and had slain more than half a dozen very persistent undead knights. With a bit of Merlin's help, perhaps - just a _bit_ \- but still. The legwork had all been his. Merlin had just crouched in a corner chanting his weird incomprehensible spells; it was _Arthur_ who'd had to hack through several skeletons' worth of fossilized bone. He was tired. And the last thing he needed was to expend his energy getting his sodding servant to _shut up_.

"Arthur?"

"Hm?" There was something soft and damp tangled in Arthur's fingers; he could feel it through the gaps in his torn glove.

"You're... sort of holding on to my. Um. _Head_."

When had that happened? Apparently, the hand he'd placed on Merlin's shoulder had wandered upwards. Which meant that the ruffle in his fingers was Merlin's _hair_.

Stupid hand. God, he was tired.

"'Course I am," he said, letting go of Merlin and opening his eyes. "You'd lose it otherwise."

"When have I ever lost my head?" Merlin sounded indignant - but he was looking at Arthur now, really _looking_ at him, instead of mooning over silly ensorcelled carriages. A troubled frown wrinkled his brow.

Oh, so _now_ he was worried. As if a worn-out Arthur was more worrying than a horde of potential enemies.

"You just did." Arthur slumped, letting his legs buckle until he slid down the wall and was sitting with his back to it. Merlin followed suit, but the alley was so cramped that even sitting face-to-face, their knees collided. "We're god knows where, the whole kingdom probably thinks we're _dead_ , and all you can do is - "

"We're not dead."

Arthur stared at him.

"We're _not_. Arthur..."

"Calling me by my name again? Forgotten that I'm your prince, have you?"

Merlin ignored him. "We're _alive_. We killed Nimueh. We saved Camelot. And now we're... somewhere she's banished us to, with her dying breath, but Camelot's safe. All we have to do is find our way back." Merlin, curse him, had that _kindness_ in his eyes - that damnable gentleness - as if _Arthur_ were the weaker one. As if Arthur needed protection.

"I see." Arthur let his words grow barbs. "That simple, is it? Just find our way home?"

"That simple."

"Then tell me. Where are we? Do you even know _where_ we're finding our way back from?"

"Well, I don't - "

"I'll tell you," Arthur interrupted, and jerked his chin towards the opening of the alleyway. "Just look out there. _Properly_ , you idiot. What do you see?"

"I see... people. Buildings. A street."

"With ensorcelled carriages on it."

"Er. Yes."

"And that woman who walked past. What was she doing?"

"She was... um, talking. To herself." Merlin smirked. "I think she saw us, you know? In the shadows. But she must've thought we were a pair of drunken sots lounging around, waiting to pounce, 'cause she went past us right quickly."

"Merlin," said Arthur, forcing himself to be patient. "She wasn't talking to herself."

Merlin blinked. "She wasn't?"

"She was talking to a _box_. A tiny, evil-looking black box. And there was a _voice_ coming out of it."

"Yes, but - don't you think that talking to a box is basically like talking to yourself? It must've been ensorcelled, that's all. Like the carriages."

"Like the..." Arthur gave up. "And that doesn't bother you?"

"No. Why?"

"Of course it wouldn't. After all, we've only just fought a witch who wanted to destroy Camelot, and here we are, _surrounded by witches_."

"Maybe this is a kingdom were sorcery is allowed." Merlin shrugged. "They do things differently - "

" _Very_ differently - "

"But that doesn't mean it's _evil_. Look, Arthur..."

And there it was again. Ever since the Labyrinth of Gedref, when Arthur had been foolish enough to risk his royal and incredibly useful life to save Merlin's considerably less royal and useful one, Merlin had been taking far too many liberties with his name. "What?"

Merlin hesitated. "Am I evil?"

Oh, wonderful. Now Merlin was going to demonstrate the awesome power of his staggering genius by performing a simple proof by induction. "You're a sorcerer, and you're not evil - ergo, not all those who are sorcerers are evil." Arthur raised an eyebrow. "Was _that_ what you wanted to say?"

An odd expression stole across Merlin's face. His head dropped onto his knees - and also, coincidentally, Arthur's, since they were right up against his. "You're such a prat."

"And so are you. Just not... an evil one." Damn it. Did they have to talk about this?

Arthur hadn't really had a proper talk with Merlin about his 'powers', what with the flying hexes and undead knights and all, but he'd been almost relieved _not_ to talk about it. The less they talked about magic, the better - and Arthur wasn't very fond of talking about feelings, anyway. What was he supposed to say? 'You lied to me, but you felt you had to, the same way I sometimes lie to my father, even though I love him. Except that I'm not your father and you didn't trust me, which makes me want to wring your neck, except that you saved mine, so I can't. And it seems that I owe you my life several times over, possibly even two times more than you owe me yours, so you're still my friend and I'd rather have you with me than without, and by _god_ , where the hell is the end of this sentence?'

Like he could ever say all that. There was just too much to say; it was better to say nothing at all.

Arthur shifted uncomfortably. It was hot in his chain-mail. "Being an evil mastermind would actually require a smidgen of _intelligence_ , Merlin, and also forethought - neither of which you have."

"Nor you."

"Shut up." Arthur lifted a hand to cuff Merlin's bowed head. "Now is not the time for this conversation. I'm bloody tired. And we have to talk about - "

" - where we are, and what to do about it." Merlin raised his head again, and that odd expression was back on his face; there was something very familiar about it, and Arthur suddenly recognized it as the same expression Merlin had worn in court that day, the day he'd drunk from a poisoned goblet for Arthur's sake. _I'd do anything for you,_ that expression had said. _I'd die for you._

It made Arthur's stomach lurch. Stupid ridiculous servants willing to give their stupid ridiculous lives. It was different if a _knight_ did it, because that was the duty of a knight, anyway, to give his life for his liege - not that Arthur had ever been fond of that idea, either, but still. A servant's job, on the other hand, was to polish boots and wash clothes and run away at the first sign of danger. That's what servants _did_.

Not Merlin, though. Merlin couldn't polish a single boot or a wash a single wine-stained doublet, but he _could_ do idiotically suicidal things and save the entire kingdom from near-certain doom. Because obviously, Merlin was perverse and spiteful, and the sole purpose of his life was to deliberately confound every one of Arthur's expectations.

"Don't look at me like that," Arthur said gruffly, and cuffed Merlin again.

Which, for some reason, made Merlin blush. "Like what?"

"Like... No, that's - never mind." He wasn't going to talk about this. "As I was saying," he continued, "we're in a land of sorcerers, not all of whom but at least _some_ of whom might be evil. Correct?"

"Yeah." Merlin was still blushing.

 _Stop blushing, damn it._ "Exactly. We're in a kingdom populated entirely by sorcerers. We have no comrades, no horses, no way to contact Camelot, and no money. You do know what no money means, don't you? It means..."

"... no food." Thankfully, _that_ wiped the blush right off Merlin's face. "Ugh, no. Are we going to have to eat rats again?"

"Maybe." Arthur tried not to sound grim. "We can't just wander out there like two children at a village fair, Merlin, no matter how charming you think those ensorcelled carriages are. For all we know, we could be a thousand miles away from Camelot, and if we're caught or injured, no one will come to help us."

"So we're on our own."

"That's right." Finally. _Finally_ , Merlin understood. Arthur was looking forward to seeing him panic. Just a little.

"So what?"

What? Hadn't he just _understood_?

"I mean, we're on our own, but... We still have to get out there. Even if it's just rats for dinner, we still need to catch them - and if this is a kingdom of sorcerers in which some are evil, then at least some of them must be good."

Arthur snorted. "Are you suggesting we find _help_?"

"What else can we do? We don't know anything about this place. I can... I can do magic, but I can't get us back home by myself - not without a spell-book to guide me. I can't do as much magic as these people can, obviously."

Just as Merlin said that, there was the blaring of a horn outside the alley - and both Arthur and Merlin gawked as a giant, monstrous, metallic _thing_ trundled down the street, picking up tall square bins from the pavement, emptying them into its churning belly and setting them down again. Its jagged-toothed maw stank with a hideously rotten stench - which suggested that it was some sort of rubbish-eating beast - but none of the people walking along the street seemed at all nonplussed by it.

"Obviously," Arthur echoed weakly. Then he cleared his throat. "They're powerful. Which is all the more reason to stay away from them."

"They're powerful," Merlin agreed, "which is all the more reason to _seek them out_."

Arthur glared. What, did the fact that they were in a far-off place cancel out his privileged rank? Then again, Merlin had always had a habit of contradicting him - in Camelot or out.

"We don't have a choice," Merlin said. "We can't return to Camelot until we get out of this alley and find out where we are." He got up slowly, trying - and failing - not to bang knees with Arthur. He held out his hand. "Come on, then. You're tired, aren't you? Being out in the open air will freshen you up."

Arthur looked at Merlin's hand - calloused, scraped and raw - and reached for it with a strange sense of disbelief. How many times had he reached for that hand? In the year since he'd first met Merlin, he reflected, Merlin had followed him _everywhere_ \- to Gedref's maze, to Nimueh's cave, and now to this foreign land.

Why had Merlin done it? What had he possibly gained?

"Oof," said Merlin, when Arthur rose up and squeezed past him. "So did I convince you?"

"You convinced me," Arthur muttered, and flexed his palms. One of them was slightly more damp than the other - the one with the torn glove - and Arthur realized, after a moment of pondering, that it was the hand he'd tangled in Merlin's hair.

 

* * *

 **on to next chapter.**

  



	2. Chapter 2

This was nerve-wracking. Not that Arthur would ever admit it to Merlin, of course - he could barely admit it to _himself_ \- but walking through an ensorcelled town was having a dangerously deleterious effect on Arthur's sanity. Merlin looked awed and thrilled and just a little frightened; Arthur, on the other hand, was _petrified_.

No one could tell by looking at him, Arthur was sure, since years of harsh discipline and fatherly scorn had honed Arthur's pride into an armor brighter and harder than adamantine. He strode down the street as if he owned it - barely flinching when the people around him talked to their pet boxes, and not batting an eyelash when a horseless carriage zoomed by. Large moving tapestries lined the windows of steel-shelved shops... What, did they not have any _trees_ here? Where was all the wood? Or were they so wealthy as to use metal for _everything_?

And that wasn't all. Women in frankly scandalous states of dishabille chatted with men who seemed not in the least bit scandalized; people sipped a bitter broth from cups made of parchment, and it was likely that the broth was ensorcelled, too, because Arthur could have _sworn_ he saw a haggard old man transform into a much younger, livelier version of himself. How could parchment hold liquid, anyway?

Never mind. At least none of the magic he was seeing seemed malicious; Merlin had been right, for once, in that the people here seemed just as ordinary as those of Camelot. Barring their strange habits and magical abilities, that is... In fact, had magic not been outlawed in Camelot, it may have looked very much like this. Even here, when people looked askance at his attire, they looked away quickly at his steely, superior gaze.

Unbidden, Merlin's words came to his mind. _Am I evil?_ No, of course he wasn't. Not everyone here had to be, either. Father would have an apoplectic fit at the thought of Arthur gallivanting through a magical kingdom with a magical manservant by his side, but what the king didn't know couldn't hurt him. Or Merlin, for that matter.

"Did you see that?" Merlin murmured quietly, and Arthur glanced to the side. There was a stand nearby, selling freshly-baked bread, and a young girl was exchanging a loaf of it for a scrap of... parchment. Yet more parchment. "They don't use money here," Merlin said in wonderment. "They use _paper_."

Paper? What utter lunacy! Still, paper _was_ easier to obtain than gold...

"Should we try buying something?" Merlin asked. "I have a bit of... er, well, it doesn't look quite as nice as what that girl had with her, but it's parchment. We could try."

"I don't think it'll work," Arthur replied, ignoring the rumbling in his own belly. "There are markings on those parchments - identical markings - which means that this is a currency of another sort. It might even be a king's decree, without which no trade can be conducted..." Not a bad idea, actually, now that he thought about it. It would certainly stop smuggling. Perhaps when he got back to Camelot, he'd speak to Father about it... "We can't just barter whatever we have on us, you pillock. Use your head for a bit." Then something else occurred to him, and he stopped. "Wait. Why do you have parchment on you?"

Merlin coughed. "It's - it's a letter I wrote. For Gaius."

Arthur's eyebrows climbed. "For Gaius? Why isn't it with Gaius, then?"

"I forgot," Merlin mumbled. "I was supposed to leave it on his worktable when I stole away that morning. Just... saying goodbye, wishing him well, telling him what to do with my things. Asking him to take care of my mother. That sort of letter."

"You forgot to leave your _last will and testament_? And no, not only did you forget, you took it _with_ you?" Arthur struggled not to laugh. "Good god, Merlin!"

"I was in a hurry!" Merlin looked at him accusingly, as if it was somehow _his_ fault. "I had this - this dream, and then I woke up, and lo and behold, Your Royal _Pratness_ was already riding out for Nimueh's cave. I saw you from my window."

"And what, you rode out after me without a second's thought?" Arthur was amused enough to disregard the bit about being a prat. For now.

"Of course I did." Merlin's face solidified into its most stubborn scowl. "I'd spent nearly _two hours_ writing that letter the night before. And you'd promised to wait for me before you left, so I thought I'd have enough time to sneak it onto Gaius's desk in the morning - but _no_ , you had to be all noble and self-sacrificing and ride out by yourself."

"I'd hoped you'd have the good sense to let me fight my battles on my own. But you never had much sense, did you?"

"I have enough sense to know that no man can fight his battles alone. And besides," Merlin added softly, "your battles _are_ my battles. All of them."

Arthur looked away. It was always difficult to look at Merlin at moments like these. "That's impossible. Now stop being such a - " _girl_ , he almost said, before remembering where it got him last time " - sentimental git," he resumed, "and spot us a nice, plump rat to eat. And by plump, I do mean _plump_ , not some stringy, skinny little specimen that looks like you in rat form."

"Yes, Sire." Merlin's tone managed to imply that, somehow, 'Sire' was the exact opposite of an honorific.

Hmph. Perhaps it was better to be called Arthur, after all. "You know, for a servant, you're not very servant-like."

"And for a prince, you're not very prince-like."

" _What?_ " If they were in Camelot, he'd have Merlin in the stocks for that. "When am I ever - "

"NO!"

Arthur immediately jerked to a halt, reaching for the hilt at his waist - that was a woman's voice, a _frightened_ woman's voice, and sure enough, Arthur turned to see a woman nearby fall to her knees. A man loomed above her, face mottled with rage, hand raised to strike.

A hand that never fell.

"Halt," said Arthur, as calmly as he could, considering that he'd leapt four paces to get there in time. His body had moved on instinct, before he had the time to think that this man could well be a sorcerer; no hex came his way, however, so Arthur tightened his grip on the man's arm. "What business have you with the lady?"

The man regarded him in sheer astonishment.

Just behind him, Arthur heard Merlin suck in a breath.

"Who're _you_?" The man looked him up and down. "From some piss-poor theatrical troupe?" He spat at the woman at his feet. "Sherry here loves that sort of thing." His mouth twisted in contempt, and he looked back at Arthur. "What, are you a bloke from her group, then? You think putting on some sort of stupid chain-mail makes you a bloody _knight_?"

"I'm no knight," Arthur answered with equanimity, "But I _am_ a prince. I ask you again - what is your business with the lady?"

The man grunted. He wore a shabby, half-open tunic and his hair was disheveled, and despite the early hour of the day, his breath reeked of ale. "Listen, you arty-farty bugger. This is between me an' my missus, all right? Sod off before I belt you one."

He made to pull his arm away - but before he could, Arthur had it twisted behind him, and the man yowled in pain.

"My lord," said Merlin pointedly, "we're drawing attention."

"So be it, then." Obviously, Merlin only called him by his title when he wanted to insult Arthur's intelligence in public. To the man, Arthur said: "If she is your wife, then you are not only a curr but also a _fool_ for striking her. No wife would stay with such a boor." Arthur felt nothing but disgust for brutes like these; sorcerers or not, this kingdom had its share of pests.

"Don't need your bloody _advice_ , you fucking _queer_ \- " The man tried to swing with his other arm, but Arthur caught that one, too, thanking the heavens that he hadn't needed to draw his sword. Shedding blood on foreign soil was generally _not_ the best way to find allies - or so prior experience had taught him, at least.

"Serves you right," growled the woman named Sherry, peering up at her husband. Her voice was thick with unshed tears and a bruise was swelling under her eye, but Arthur had rarely seen a fiercer face. "There's a copper coming this way," she said as she got to her feet unsteadily, "and I hope you rot in the nick. I'll never bail _you_ out, you bleedin' drunk."

Arthur gaped. Were _all_ the women in this kingdom so ungrateful? She'd barely noticed Arthur at all! And what was she _saying_? It didn't make any sense. All this talk of bailing, but there wasn't a bucket in sight...

"Bitch!" screamed the man, clawing at Arthur's arms to get loose. "You cheating _whore_! Is this your bit on the side, then? The one from your fucking _activity group_?"

"I don't _have_ a bit on the side!" Sherry screamed back. "And I wish I didn't have a husband, either!"

"Arthur," said Merlin, thankfully not suffering from the let's-ignore-our-valiant-savior disease, "there's another man heading towards us. An _armed_ man."

"Armed with what?" Arthur asked through his teeth, trying to keep the raving ruffian in his arms from breaking free.

"A stick," Merlin said, and gulped. "But it looks like a wand."

Arthur stiffened. "A _what_?"

"Um," said Merlin. "If you like, I could - "

Just at that moment, the man took advantage of Arthur's lapse in concentration and dug a vicious elbow into Arthur's stomach - which must've hurt _him_ more than it hurt Arthur, on account of the chain-mail, but he still managed to escape.

Everything moved in a flash. Sherry shrieked. Arthur lunged forward to stop the bastard before he could strike her, but then a hand was grabbing his arm and pulling him back, and - _Merlin_ , the idiot, what was he -

Oh. _Oh_.

The man had collapsed on the ground, groaning - but it wasn't because Arthur had struck him.

Above the fallen man stood the very wizard Merlin had warned him of - there was a wand in his hands, all right, and deadly blue sparks spat from its tip. As Arthur watched, tense with apprehension, the sparks stopped - and the wizard sheathed his wand in a scabbard not unlike that of Arthur's sword.

"God, no!" Sherry cried, and all of a sudden she was on her knees again, next to her fallen husband, shaking him by the shoulders. "Howard? Howard! Are you all right?"

"Jus' a little shocked, madam," said the wizard, surprisingly bland. "He'll be unconscious for a bit." He was a middling man, not imposing in any way other than his magic, and he wore a hard bell-shaped hat that looked rather like a helmet. "What do we have 'ere, then?" He looked at the pair on the ground, and then Arthur and Merlin. "A couple of early-morning revelers?" He gave Arthur's clothes a bemused glance. "Fancy-dress party, maybe?"

"Leave us alone," sobbed Sherry, all her former hatred seeming to have evaporated into thin air. She clutched her husband protectively, and Arthur wasn't sure whether to feel like a fool for saving her, or whether he ought to explain to the wizard that honestly, he'd only been trying to help.

Because explanations _would_ be necessary. What Arthur saw - the helmet, the sword-like wand, the sense of responsibility - all pointed to one thing. Knighthood. "Sir," interjected Arthur, "I apologize if I have at all disturbed the peace of your neighborhood. I was merely attempting to stop an assault on an innocent woman."

"Aye, I saw it from a block away." The wizard crouched and snapped a pair of metal cuffs onto Howard's wrists. The shackles must be magic, too, as they clicked shut with nary a key to lock them. "But you can't do what you just did, lad. You should've called the police. We don't like vigilante justice here - things can get ugly."

"Justice is justice," said Arthur, "vigilante or not." So the 'police' was the knighthood of this kingdom. Perhaps Merlin had been right to seek help; things weren't so different here. "Nevertheless, if I have broken any laws, I will do whatever you ask as recompense."

Merlin made a strangled noise behind Arthur that probably meant: _Don't try to be prince-like_ now _!_

The wizard - knight? - wizard-knight? - chortled. "You're really into your role-play, aren't you?" He stood up and pulled out another pair of shackles. "Well, it's good that you want to make _recompense_ , I s'pose. 'Cause you can make it in jail."

" _What?_ " Suddenly, as quick as lightning, Merlin had stepped forward and intercepted the wizard - and there was something in his stance that threatened violence, or even sorcery, if anyone so much as laid a hand on Arthur. "Don't touch him."

Arthur sighed. "Forgive him," he said to the wizard. "He understands neither etiquette nor rank. _Merlin_ ," he said to his bumbling and absurdly over-protective servant, "this gentleman is a _knight_. I'm sure that we can talk over this misunderstanding like civilized men."

The wizard stared at them. His eyes swung from Merlin to Arthur with a sort of dawning comprehension, and after a slightly delicate pause, he cleared his throat. "Listen," he said to Merlin, rather awkwardly, "You don't seem like a bad sort. Your, er - your boyfriend here didn't break any law, per se, when he stopped that assault; he didn't strike anyone. Understand? But it _is_ still illegal to carry weaponry in public, and he certainly is carrying it." To Arthur: "Like that... antique sword you have there. And the dagger behind it."

"They're not antiques," said Arthur, wondering at the mannerisms of this place, and that Merlin being a boy _and_ his friend was apparently worth remarking on. What, were all men sworn enemies here? Not that they got on with their women, either...

"Then I have no choice. I'm arresting you for two counts of carrying weaponry in public." The wizard raised the shackles again, and his eyes were neither angry nor pitying - just matter-of-fact. His expression was so like that of a knight of Camelot that, somehow, Arthur was sure that he had nothing to fear. "You don't have to say anything, but it may harm your defense if you fail to mention, when questioned, something that you later intend to rely on in court. Anything you say may be given in evidence."

The words had the ring of a well-rehearsed custom; yes, this truly _was_ a knight.

"Go along with him, Merlin," said Arthur, and held out his hands. "He's taking us to the royal court; we'll get to see the king."

"And ask him for help, you mean?" Merlin sounded dubious. "What changed your mind?"

"You did," Arthur snapped, "with your prattle about not all sorcerers being evil. Now be silent and let the good knight do his business."

The wizard gave Arthur an odd look, as if he'd sprouted a second head. He gave an even odder look to Merlin when _he_ held his hands out as well.

"No, no," said the wizard, "Not you. You don't have a weapon. You didn't even fight." At Merlin's palpable disappointment, he added, "You'll still have to come with us, though, to give your statement." He huffed and shook his head. "Not from around here, are you?"

"We hail from a distant land," answered Arthur gravely, and then paused. "At least we _think_ it's distant. Your king will no doubt enlighten us further."

"No doubt," muttered the wizard, and clapped on the shackles. Arthur's sword and dagger were also unbuckled from his belt, which he would've protested under any other circumstance, but he _had_ just been told that resisting arrest was a crime.

Arthur had never been subjected to such indignities - being disarmed and detained by junior knights - but, as a prince, he knew the importance of respecting the law. Only by cooperating with the laws of the land could he hope to procure help from its liege; being an outlaw _here_ wouldn't help them any. If they proved themselves worthy allies, the king might even give them gold and horses, and an armed escort back to Camelot.

Arthur was royalty, too, after all. He had his father's ring to prove it.

"Pick-up requested at the corner of Carinish and Hotham Roads." The wizard had pulled out one of those small black boxes, and was speaking into it as if to a person. "Also request the presence of a consulting psychologist at HQ as soon as possible. No later than noon today, over."

A scrambled voice replied from within the box, and Arthur tried very hard not to shy away from it. _Steady on,_ he told himself, almost envying Merlin his natural ease with sorcery. _Magic is normal here._

There was a small crowd of people gathering around them by now - men and women on their way to work, judging by their harried expressions, who nonetheless thought that they could spare a few minutes to gawp at a roadside spectacle. People really _weren't_ different here, were they? Magical or not.

"I'm not sure this is such a good idea," Merlin whispered into Arthur's ear as Howard, the fallen wife-beater, moaned his way back to consciousness. Sherry sat next to him with her shoulders in a defeated slump.

"It was _your_ idea."

"Not getting arrested, it wasn't!" Merlin exclaimed. "What if they want to... to... execute us, or something?"

"Don't be daft. I haven't done anything _nearly_ serious enough to be - "

"And Gwen had, when you thought she'd made a simple poultice to heal her father?"

"That wasn't me," Arthur frowned, disliking the implicit accusation that he'd _ever_ approved of Gwen's execution. Merlin ought to know him better than that - they'd even stopped the execution together! "That was my father."

"I know, but what if the king here is - "

"Shut up, you two," said the wizard-knight. "I don't know if you're drugged or barmy or just actors on a lark, but we'll sort all that out at the station. There's a bunch of tests waiting for you."

"Tests?" Unpleasant memories from Gedref came to mind; Arthur's throat went dry. "Magical ones?"

The wizard rolled his eyes. "Aye, magical ones, or whatever you please. The car's here. Get in."

Yet another horseless carriage pulled up - but this one was obviously a vehicle of the law, since it bore a royal suit of arms and a glittering blue crown on its roof. Blue-and-yellow squares were painted along its sides, and the words _WESSEX POLICE: GUARDING THE PEACE_ were emblazoned across the front.

Arthur froze.

He read those words, and read them again, as if expecting them to disappear.

They didn't.

A terrible dizziness gripped his head.

"We can't be in Wessex," said Arthur, and looked up to see a similarly stunned expression on Merlin's face. "We just came _from_ Wessex."

"Maybe there's another Wessex," Merlin croaked. "Somewhere."

" _Where?_ In the sodding _sky_?"

"Didn't I just tell you to get in?" The wizard gave Arthur a push - and before Arthur could protest that this place being Wessex was _impossible_ and ludicrous and all things considered, he'd rather just ride on a horse, Arthur found himself bundled into the carriage with Merlin tossed in after him.

They sat in its stuffy interior, panting, staring at each other.

Arthur barely noticed the oddly elongated seats or the dark, waxy screen that blocked his view of the front - he would have remarked on these things ordinarily, and perhaps asked Merlin what he thought, but he himself couldn't think of anything. The word _Wessex_ kept ringing in his skull - like a gong, or a death knoll, or a curse.

"Wessex isn't united," said Merlin, "I don't think. And I didn't recognize that royal crest."

"Neither did I." It couldn't be real. There had always been _talk_ of uniting Wessex, and maybe even the whole of Albion, but no king had ever realized that dream. How could there be another Wessex - not to mention a united one - within Albion itself? Camelot was but one of the many cities in Wessex, each ruled over by its own king; it wasn't _possible_ for Wessex to be united, for it it were, Camelot as Arthur knew it wouldn't exist.

Neither would the Pendragons.

Merlin looked slightly faint. "Methinks," he said hoarsely, "that not all is as it seems."

"What a brilliant deduction, O venerated one." He heard the snarl in his own voice, and quashed it ruthlessly. This wasn't Merlin's fault. Arthur was feeling _ill_ , and there was something very wrong about this entire situation, but he was still the prince of Camelot and his duty was to return to it. "Nothing's changed. We'll meet the king of this land - whoever he is - and ask him to send us home."

"But what if the Camelot he returns us to isn't the Camelot we know?"

"That... That can't be." He wouldn't allow himself to _think_ it. What had Nimueh done? Where had she sent them? "This must be another Wessex. You were right. Maybe we aren't even in Albion."

"But then how - "

"Shut up, Merlin." This was madness. Suddenly, Arthur could feel the weight of his shackles as if they were twin anchors, dragging him into the depths of a fathomless sea. "Shut up."

He hadn't eaten in a day. Hadn't slept in nearly three. Maybe his real body was bleeding to death in Nimueh's cave, and all of this was but a fevered dream.

The carriage lurched. Arthur shut his eyes, and tried not to think that they were moving with aid of neither man nor livestock - tried not to think about anything at all, actually - about Nimueh or curses or death.

When a jolt of the carriage pushed Merlin's shoulder against his, he didn't shrug it off; when Merlin's fingers brushed his own, he didn't flinch. He'd hate himself for it tomorrow, he knew, but he couldn't bring himself to pull away - not today. Not when Merlin's fingers, bony and sweaty and cold, had a tremble in them as well.

Not today.

 _Take me home,_ he said into the silence of his mind, where it was safe to say it - where no grimacing father would tell him to stop acting like a child, and where no one would think any less of him. _Take me home,_ he said again, and felt Merlin's hand wrap around his. _Take us home._

* * *

  
**to be continued.**   


  



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